


Rule Breaking

by tangerine (arte)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Demon Castiel, Episode: s02e22 All Hell Breaks Loose, M/M, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-24
Updated: 2017-08-17
Packaged: 2018-04-23 03:15:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4860956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arte/pseuds/tangerine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas doesn't know where the angels got the brilliant idea that he must support Lucifer's insane plan to wipe out all of humanity because he quiet clearly remembers saying, "Our wrath must be directed at Lucifer, not his innocent victim," but then again, he should've remembered that those dramatic overachievers had once dropped meteors on Earth because some planktons didn't seem quite <em>right.</em></p><p>Or, demon!Cas saves Dean, fucking up Hell's plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to run with the idea here: taintedean.tumblr.com/post/129316760803

Cas is the world's most fucked up example of the worst possible timing. He makes a guy whose hair got burned up because of a cigarette butt that slipped through the open window of a bus look like the luckiest bastard worthy of winning a lottery.

He was fucking sent to Hell because he said no to torturing Gadreel for eternity for getting fucking duped by Lucifer. He doesn't know where the angels got the brilliant idea that he must support Lucifer's insane plan to wipe out all of humanity because he quiet clearly remembers saying, "Our wrath must be directed at Lucifer, not his innocent victim," but then again, he should've remembered that those dramatic overachievers had once dropped meteors on Earth because some planktons didn't seem quite _right._

It was quite stupid of him to expect that Heaven would be able to distinguish a reasonable no from a full on rebellion in its height of paranoia.

His only luck in this train wreck of a situation was that he was the last to Fall, which means that none of the true followers of Lucifer knows that he isn't exactly one of them. 

It's like all of his misfortunes were payment to buy this ticket to pass up as one of _Lucifer's Chosen_. One little assumption, and Cas is not a chewtoy for angels and demons with anger issues and inferiority complex. One little assumption, and Cas can get away with not tortuting anybody because he must be one of those snobby Fallens who consider themselves above touching icky human souls.

Sometimes, Cas wonders if Atropos is the one who allowed him such luck for that one time he helped her with a missing paper work. 

Sitting in the regular meetings among the Fallen, Cas is sure that she's sending him a fuck you from somewhere for generating a big pile of paper works with his Fall.

"Hello, Zadkiel!" Cas forces himself to perk up when Zadkiel shows up, because she's one of those snobby ex-angels he's suppose to look up to. 

See, Cas learned his lesson. Speaking one's mind is the fastest way to get killed, or worse, exploited. Ever since coming to Hell, he has carefully cultivated his persona to the extent that no one even suspects that he has any depth. 

As far as Hell is concerned, he's the bumbling newbie that doesn't quite fit in with the rest of the cool kids. Oh, he tries, but it shows that he doesn't really have the skills to pull it off. The cool kids tolerate him because he's the only one among them who's desperate enough to work at a crossroad like some peasants. His sales record is terrible, but they overlook it because sometimes he brings useful information that other low level demons try to hide. There's no need to be wary of Cas since he has no ambition beyond getting a pat on the back, and even if he does, what can he do when even humans can get away with breaking deals with him?

Zadkiel's only acknowledgment of him is a disdainful nod, and Cas feels his smile broaden. 

-

Cas is unnerved by his recent bout of luck.

The Fallen has entrusted him with the job to secure Righteous Man's soul to Hell, knowing that he's one of the most incompetent crossroad workers to ever set a foot on the crossroad. 

For one dark moment, Cas is sure that this is some kind of a test, that they had caught onto his sabotage. The next moment, he realizes that he won't be agonizing over the matter like this if that had been the case. He'd have been too busy singing under Alistair's hand.

In the end, he decides not to look the gift horse in the mouth and to just roll in the irony. He thinks his case could go down on the demonic history as a lesson in not to value class over skill. 

To be frank, Cas wants to go absolutely wild with this deal. This is his last chance. Once Hell realizes that Cas has not only failed to secure a deal but also made it impossible for them to get a further deal with the Righteous Man, they won't be content with simply killing him. He has to go out with a bang because that's the only way to make it worth it.

If it's at all possible, he'd like to appear before Dean Winchester with confetti and yell, "It's your lucky day! One free wish for Hell's ten millionth customer! How may I help you?" but he knows it's not an option. 

Cas sighs, his dream dashed. It'd have been damn cathartic to be that blatant and cheerful after millennia of forced subterfuge.

Instead of chasing after the impossible, he goes about composing a contract with many loopholes, but not so obvious as to arouse a hunter's suspicion (their kind never trusts a gift that comes without condition). The only air tight clauses he includes are the ones that say Dean Winchester won't be able to sell/give away his soul to anyone but Cas, formerly known as the seraph Castiel, lieutenant of the garrison sent to Earth.

Cas hesitates as he writes down his old station and name, but he can't afford any creative interpretation on this clause. He swallows past his pain and finishes the draft. 

When the tug of the summoning comes, Cas is ready, a parchment he has read over fifty times by his side.

-

He realizes that he is not ready, staring at Dean Winchester's soul. He thought he knew what it meant that he'd have to face the Righteous Man, but he was wrong. The soul is bright like winterberry shining red in the snow, like water hit with sunlight, like- 

_Focus,_ Cas mentally slaps himself. This is really not the time for this.

"Fuck," Dean swears as he belatedly finds the quiet shadow behind him. "High time you showed up, you son of a bitch."

Cas raises his brow. "My apologies. I didn't think to announce myself."

Dean glares at him, probably thinking that Cas is mocking him. "Shut up," he says. "You know why I called you." 

Cas is aware that there are demons watching him. He can't see them, but what are angels (former or not) without good paranoia and surveillance? They may not have been intelligent enough not to give him this mission in the first place, but there's no way they hadn't sent up their minions to spy on him. 

Cas knows that he has to tread carefully until the deal is sealed. He knows that at this moment, his audience would be expecting a taunt, a jeer, a torture that will slash deep inside the mind and crumble any self-respect into dust. 

However, Cas doesn't have it in him to make Dean suffer any more than is strictly necessary. 

"If you would sign this, please," Cas says, handing over the parchment. He hopes that the demons would take the paperwork as a sign that Cas doesn't want to fuck this up and not the opposite way.

Dean blinks. "What, Hell's bureaucratic now?"

Cas can't very well say _No, it's just me wanting you to find a loophole in our deal,_ so he contents himself with saying, "When we've got lots of conditions."

Dean glares at him, but soon switches his focus to the contract. "No way," he says, reading the first few lines. "I get only one year? The standard deal is a decade."

Cas agrees it's unfair. It's just that the Fallens are impatient, and can't be assed to wait nine more measly years to have Lucifer walk on Earth. 

"You won't get a better deal anywhere else."

"Why should I believe you?" 

"You could, of course, try another crossroad," Cas says. "Then we'd meet again and end up having this conversation one more time." 

Dean narrows his eyes. "Then I'm afraid we have no deal."

At that moment, that's exactly what Cas wants. He wants Dean to never, ever be cornered into selling his soul. He wants Dean to know that his soul belongs to him and him only, always, and to never worry about his clock ticking, imagining himself screaming in the Pit. 

Cas wishes he could scrub the idea of Apocalypse from every angel and demon. He wishes that no meant anything to Hell.

"Okay," Cas says. "Give me back my contract."

Dean grabs onto the paper tightly. "You don't want my soul?" 

It's not the matter of want. Cas doesn't know what kind of expression he's supposed to wear.

"That's the only deal I can offer."

Dean looks at him like he wants nothing more than to pummel him to the ground. Growling resentfully, he goes back to reading the contract. After a moment though, he blinks, then frowns. His eyes dart across the paper.

Icy coldness grips Cas tight. He only met Dean a few minutes ago, but he can recognize the expression well enough.

Dean Winchester already fucking found a loophole. 

Frantic, Cas fists Dean's collar and hauls him close. "Do we have a deal?" 

Cas wonders why the fuck angels and demons can't talk to humans telepatically. He desperately tries to transcribe _Shut up, shut up, please shut the hell up and follow my lead_ with only his eyes, because they're both fucked if Dean starts accusing him of the deal being too easy for it to be real or even calls him by his true name.

Dean stares at him for a second, then gives a tiny nod. "Fine," he snarls, as if that little nod had just been an illusion, and smashes their lips together. 

Cas can't help but close his eyes and enjoy the kiss. It's the warmth and the heat and the knowledge that Dean Winchester is saved. He wants to shout it at the top of his lungs for all the world to hear, but his job isn't done until Hell would truly give up on Dean, so he swallows down his feeling and let it burn in his heart. 

When their mouths part, Dean is looking at him strangely. Which itself is strange, because Dean can't know the extent of what Cas has done. 

Cas feels himself smiling. It's sincere and awkward, his face too used to masks. 

"Good luck, Dean," he whispers.

As he disappears, he vows to keep Dean safe until his time comes.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean can't sleep. His head is swimming in sea of uncertainty, waves of doubt churning back and forth.

Tomorrow, they're going to summon the demon. That's their usual MO: When in doubt, kill it. But this time, Dean can't stop thinking. 

As far as securing Dean's soul goes, the contract is a joke. It clearly states that if one party violates the terms of the agreement, the other party isn't required to hold up their end of the bargain, yet it's skewed to make it hard for the demon to meet all the criteria. 

The one thing the contract does right is making sure that Dean can't ever sell(or even give away) his soul unless it's through the demon. About this, the contract is obsessive. The demon is the only one who can ever handle Dean's soul in every steps of a deal. Everytime Dean thinks there might be a way out, there are carefully laid out sentences ushering him back to trapped corners. They are meticulous, and they show that all those loopholes in the contract weren't careless mistakes.

The demon wanted the dealership more than the soul itslef, and Dean has no idea why.

Maybe they can interrogate the demon before killing him. He wonders if Sam and Bobby would allow him to be left alone with the guy. 

See, although Dean didn't tell them about this, he thought that the demon's obsession with being his one and only broker was odd even upon his first viewing of the contract. That was akin to painting a giant target on one's back and shouting, "Hey, guess what? If you kill me, no one can touch you!" And what kind of demon put that on a contract explicitly?

But then the demon yanked him close and Dean realized that Cas knew exactly what he was doing. It was the familiar glint in his eyes. It was Sam, shouting at a bunch of college kids to get inside the fucking circle of salt 'cause they were gonna get themselves killed. It was people who just had their first brush with supernatural, lying to authority because they couldn't let the Winchesters get caught. 

It was a fellow hunter, telling him to run because they got this.

Dean can't wrap his head around the moment of connection. He can't ever tell anyone about this. How can you say that you, a seasoned hunter, was surprised to taste sulphur in the guy's mouth because you trusted him that much? How can you say that you doubted, and are doubting your sense of disillusionment because all he could read in Cas's smile was _Don't worry, everything would be alright_?

Dean rubs his face wearily. He's not sure he wants to summon him and face the truth.

-

Pie is the answer to everything. Dean makes a satisfied noise as he chews on the best pecan pie he has ever tasted. 

This is what Dean needs after the failed summoning attempt. Sam and Bobby had flipped the fuck out when Dean had said that he wanted to go driving alone, and consequently he's on a strict two-hour time limit, but this pie is worth all the tiresome haggling. 

"You should be more careful than this." 

Dean almost chokes on the pie as he sees who has slid into the seat in front of him. It's that fucking crossroad demon with ruffled brown hair, wearing a black trench coat and a blue tie. 

He fumbles for the Colt on his back, realizes that he's in freaking public space, wonders if all these people are hostages, and finally wonders why the demon is just fucking staring at him. 

"Hello, Dean." Cas raises his eyebrow. "Are you going to kill me?"

Dean grips the Colt tightly under the table. He doesn't shoot. Yet. 

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Dean hisses.

"Well, I wasn't planning on showing up, but someone kept trying to summon me."

"What? That thing didn't work."

"It definitely did," Cas says, trying to pick up one piece of the pie. Dean, without much thinking, swats him on the back of his hand. Dean freezes, wondering if this is going to set the guy off.

Cas just shrugs and settles down.

"Think of summoning as an annoying phone call that never stops ringing unless you answer it. You don't have to pick it up immediately, but you have to do so at some point if you want your life back."

"Then why did you choose now?"

"As opposed to the warehouse that you filled to the brim with devil's traps?" Cas leans back in his seat. "Please, I happen to value my life."

"That's not what your contract sounded like." 

Cas pauses. "I admit, at the time I was drafting it, death seemed like a more favorable option than eternal torture."

"Torture?" Dean frowns.

"Well, Hell isn't usually generous with its employee setting a soul loose."

Dean shifts in his seat. The idea of Cas being tortured is uncomfortably ..uncomfortable. It shouldn't bother him. Or should it? Cas looks like human and imagining human-like guy getting tortured is supposed to feel uncomfortable, isn't it? 

But still, the back of his mind that feels suspiciously like Dad looking in bristles. _Is he trying to guilt trip you, son?_

"I didn't ask you to do shit," Dean snaps. 

Cas cocks his head. "I never said you did." 

It'd have been easier to continue with the accusations if Cas had been smug, sarcastic, or aggressive. Faced with vague bewilderment and curiosity, Dean feels his ready words dying on his tongue, fogging his mind with more confusion.

"What the fuck is your angle?" Dean asks at last, words lacking its sting.

Cas hums, drumming his fingers on the table. "Here's the problem. Let's say I tell you everything. Would you believe a word I say?"

The answer should be an unequivocal no. Dean tightens his grip on the Colt. The safety is still on.

It's strategy, Dean thinks. He needs more intel.

He says, "Let's hear it." 

-

Things don't go smoothly. First, Cas starts his story with, "When Lucifer rebelled and drove Heaven into a frankly alarming height of paranoia," which makes Dean feel compelled to respond with, "Fuck, I have no interested in listening to demon Sunday School."

"Technically, it's angel Sunday School."

"What?"

Cas raises his brow. "You know that I was an angel, right? I remember writing it down on the contract."

Dean remembers. Dean remembers every fucking ridiculous line on that contract. He reread it for dozens of times when he realized that his soul was technically free since Cas conveniently revived Sam with a bleeding wound on his back despite promising to revive him _in an unblemished state._

"You mean the seraph thing? I thought that was like, a metaphor."

"No, it was literal."

"But there's no such thing as angel."

Cas opens his mouth as if to argue, then shakes his head. "Okay. Anyway, the angels were-"

"Angels don't exist," Dean interrupts him again.

"Dean," Cas says, throwing his hands up. "I get that you don't believe in angels, but would you just shut up and listen? Apparently, I'm a demon with a delusion of grandeur who can't talk shit without an extended metaphor that involes winged celestial wave of intent. I don't know what kind of metaphor angels are for, but I'm guessing you do. Can we move on?"

"Alright, sheesh," Dean says.

"Thank you." Cas mock salutes. "I'll skip the boring history part for you then. Basically, I fell but I don't want anything to do with Lucifer. You kinda got in my way of fucking with Hell."

"Glad to know where I stand," Dean says dryly. "Is freeing souls your regular hobby?"

"I guess." Cas shrugs. "I just botch up contracts. People usually have to exploit loopholes on their own."

"Usually?"

"Well, except you," Cas leans his head against his hand. "There were a few more loopholes besides killing me, much easier to execute, but I got worried that your contrary nature would lead you to inaction," he side-eyes Dean. "You are already free. You know that, right?"

Dean shrugs, hoping the gesture would look dismissive enough. It's unbelievably tempting to believe Cas. Well, maybe not unbelievably. Dean wants his soul to be free. It's natural to want to go along with a rosy picture.

Luckily, Cas soon takes away his too reassruing words by saying, "Of course, that doesn't mean you're entirely safe."

Dean waves it off, relieved. "Won't be my life if it was."

"No, it's not like that. Hell's actively looking for a way to get your soul."

"Why?" Dean frowns. "I mean, I'm a pretty good hunter-"

"You're the Righteous Man."

Dean snorts, unable to maintain a serious face. "I'm sorry, but what's with Hell and weird titles? Wasn't the Boy King ridiculous enough?" 

"Heaven deems the title to be classy," Cas says, voice dry. "Regardless, the ridculousness of the title isn't indicative of the level of danger you are in. They believe bringing your soul to Hell would free Lucifer and start the Apocalypse. In essence, you are Hell's number one target."

Smirk slides off from Dean's face. "Hold on, back off," he says, sobering up. The story just grew way off the scale. "Apocalypse? Who are 'they'?" 

"The rest of the Fallen, of course. Frankly, their only goal after falling was finding a way to get Lucifer back again."

Dean shakes his head. "You know how crazy you sound, right? I mean, why am I so important for this Lucifer gig."

"I wish I knew," Cas says. "Nevertheless, that's what they believe, and you have to be careful."

A group of girls pass him by, giggling as they go. It reminds him that he and Cas are in a fucking diner. This is fucking unreal.

"What's wrong?" Cas asks, watching Dean twisting his body to look around.

"Nothing. Uh, just, Lucifer, demons, Apocalypse?" Dean rubs at his thighs. "Hope no one will come accusing us of being satanists."

Cas gives him a look that says, _You realizing that now?_

"Don't worry. I took care of it."

"What do you mean?"

Cas taps under the table. "I slapped on a sigil that stops anyone from eavesdropping on us. And we're pretty much inconspicuous unless we do something drastic to draw their eyes." 

"What?" Dean asks, resisting the urge to duck and check under the table. He hates being vulnerable. "You can't do that. Let me see."

"Why?" Cas asks, but produces a piece of paper from under the table.

The inky lines are stark and efficient, the paper slightly crinkled around the edge. It could be totally innocuous, or something else.

Dean's skin crawls as he looks back on how he acted around Cas. He thought he was being careful, but he can now see that it wasn't enough.

 _Who is this guy?_ Dean asks himself. He doesn't recognize this guy who's willing to sit across a demon that isn't trapped, who's willing to bicker with a demon without bite, almost playfully, even. Dean's.. Dean's not that guy. What the fuck is wrong with him? 

"How do I know that you're not mind whamming me?" Dean asks, the dreaded question finally leaving his mouth. He clicks the safety off.

Cas stares at the point where the gun would be under the table.

"I don't know," he says after a long silence. "Does it matter that you're aware enough to question that? Does it matter that I told you about the fucking sigil you wouldn't have thought to check?" He looks rueful more than anything else, like he understands. "Does anything matter but the fact that I'm a demon?"

Dean stares at Cas's eyes, willing him to crack and... whip off his mask, let out an evil laughter or something. Then it'd be easy. Now it just feels like whatever Dean does, it's going to be the biggest mistake in his life.

Dean slowly raises the Colt, and points it at Cas. Cas doesn't disappear. Dean knows he can. Dean's head is a mess. It's worse than last night since the real thing is in front of him. 

Heart hammering and hands sweaty, he carefully clicks the safety on, the sound echoing impossibly loud in his ears. Without taking his eyes off Cas, he puts it back behind his back. 

Dean feels like banging his head on the wall for being an idiot. It feels like the worst mistake in his life. Still, he can't pull the trigger. He doesn't know what that says about him. 

"You're giving me a headache," Dean complains.

"You, too," Cas shoots back. 

Dean resentfully shoves the rest of the pie in his mouth. He can feel Cas staring. Dean doesn't share.

"I didn't think a sigil that harmless would freak you out so much," Cas says, more to himself than to Dean.

"Shut up," Dean says. He can't fucking wrap his head around what he did. "I can kill you anytime."

"If it's any consolation, I think people not giving a shit about your gun waving a moment ago means that the sigil is working as I told you, and not in some other nefarious way."

"Whatever," Dean grumbles, but relaxes a notch.

Cas sighs. "Sorry to bother you with another spell works, but I really need you to see this."

Dean'd like to walk off at this point, but he has put up with too much to be the first to back down. "What is it?"

Cas looks at him somewhat apologetically and brings out a neatly folded paper and ..a haxbag.

"Dude," Dean can't help but say.

"I wasn't going to bring it up," Cas says defensively, as if this was Dean's fault. "But as we were just freaking out over a sigil, I thought we might as well just rip off the bandage."

He doesn't understand Cas' logic. But- fuck it. "And these are supposed to be?"

"This is a protective sigil. It hides you from every angel and demon in creation," Cas says, waving a paper toward him. "I'd like you to tattoo it or carry it everywhere but in the meanwhile, this hax bag can work similarly, too."

Dean opens the paper, and blinks at the whole new level of mindfuckery. For one, this thing is impossibly intricate, nothing like the small sigil he saw a moment before; letters he has never seen before is filling in every space on the paper. 

"You expect us to tattoo this without missing any dots?"

Cas shrugs. "I'd have carved it in your ribs for you, but I was afraid you'd do something stupid like breaking every rib in your body."

"Damn right you ain't touching me without-"

"Dean!" 

Dean and Cas both jump as a pair of hands slam on the table. 

It's Sam. Dean's brain short-circuits. Why the hell is his sasquatch of a brother here? 

"I told you I'll come drag you back if you don't come back in two hours," Sam says, sounding smug. 

"The hell did you find me?"

"Duh, GPS, Dean?" Sam rolls his eyes. "It's not like you've never-" He stops, belatedly realizing that Dean's not alone. "Oh, shit. I mean, um- you are-?"

"Hi." Cas musters up a smile, shooting a desperate look at Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be the last chapter! Damn you demon!Cas for giving me ideas


	3. Chapter 3

Sam's not sure what to make of the situation.

"Dean," the mysterious guy says patiently, trying to stand up despite the iron grip Dean has on his wrist. "I think it'd be best if I am to leave now." 

"Oh no, you don't," Dean says. "You expect me to explain all this shit alone?" 

"Well." The mysterious guy tries to tug his hand free, then give up with a huff. He sits back down unhappily. "Forgive me if I'd rather not face your angry family."

"You'd have to face them at some point. If you're sincere, that is."

"What good is sincerity without trust? They'll simply accuse me of _corrupting_ you."

Okay, this- really sounds like- _something_ , Sam thinks, looking back and forth between his brother and the mysterious guy. He's certain he'd heard this kind of dialogue from some soap opera, and their staring match is making the idea even more convincing, but it could be that Sam's reaching. 

Just to be on the safe side, Sam delicately asks, "Did I interrupt something?" 

Dean snaps his head toward him, looking guilty. "Uh-"

The guy sighs in resignation. "Sit down, Sam. We don't really need people's attention for this."

Dean scoots in without a word, still not letting the guy go. Sam sits down, feeling surreal. 

Dean already told the guy about him? 

The guy doesn't say anything for awhile, looking around the diner as if he wants to make 100% sure that no one is paying them any attention. Sam silently asks Dean with his eyebrows what's the deal, but his brother just makes a constipated face at him.

"Okay," the guy says at last. "As there's no tactful way to say this: Hi, I'm Cas, the one who made a deal with your brother."

For a second, Sam's brain shuts down - _What? But I thought you were- then this means, what?_ \- but it soon comes back on, spitting a list of weapons that can be used against demons. One of which is the Colt. 

Which Dean has taken with him.

Sam looks at Dean sharply. 

Dean shrugs, looking uncomfortable. "I still have the gun with me."

"What?" Sam says, because Dean's usually the one harping on shoot first ask questions later policy.

"I don't know, alright?" Dean's eyebrows and hand are very expressive, but unfortunately, they're not eloquent enough to make Sam understand what the fuck is happening. "Just, listen. Or not? Tell me how much of bullshit he's spitting on."

"Why are you even eating pie with a demon?"

"He didn't have any," 

"What?" Sam asks again. "What the- why are you holding his hand?"

"I'm not," Dean snaps, although he blushes a little. "I'm just trying to stop him from poofing out."

Cas raises his brow. "Didn't it occur to you that I might just poof out along with you?"

From the look of his face, it didn't occur to Dean. But to his credit, he recovers quickly. "You're not gonna kidnap me at this point," Dean bullshits.

"You don't know what I'm willing to do to avoid this confrontation." Despite his bold words, Cas doesn't do anything drastic like chopping Dean's hand off. He just slouches in his seat. If anything, it looks like he gave up on running away altogether.

"Anyway, you can let go of me now," Cas continues. "I can't poof out of here anyway. No demon can."

"What do you mean?" Dean asks even as he's slowly (reluctantly?) freeing Cas' hand.

"You're going to freak out again if I explain."

"You're already making me freak out. Just explain anyway."

Cas gives dean a skeptical look, then sighs. "Before coming in, I set up some alarms around this place. No demon can come within twenty feet without alerting me. I also made sure that they won't be able to smoke out or pop out of here. I didn't want anyone to alert Hell about what I'm doing. Unfortunately, that means I'm stuck here too."

Dean doesn't freak out, but he sure does goggle. "Just how fucking paranoid are you?" 

"Apparently, not enough, considering that I got bested by fucking GPS." 

Dean smirks at Cas's sullen attitude. "Aw, cheer up. You can't help that human invention is too awesome for you." 

And Sam, Sam has had enough.

"Why the fuck," he says. "Are you acting buddy buddy with the demon that holds your contract?"

Dean's head whips towards Sam.  
"I did not!" Dean denies hotly. After a second he rubs his neck, deflating. "I don't know, shit. That's why I need your opinion."

"Why? Do you need a second opinion to shoot him?"

Dean makes a frustrated noise at the back of his throat. "It's just- he said some weird shit and-" He turns to Cas and waves his hand at Sam's direction. "Tell him what you told me."

"That's going to take some time since I haven't even told you everything," Cas says as his eyes slide from Dean to Sam. "Are you willing to listen? It's going to be a waste of time if you are just set out to dismiss my every word."

Dean looks at Sam expectantly, his hands still resolutely on the table and not anywhere near the Colt. It's a strange feeling to realize that right now, Sam is the more blood-thirsty Winchester between the two of them. Frankly, Sam doesn't want to listen. He's tired of fretting, of looking at the damn contract over and over again, of wondering if he missed something. He wants to put this whole business regarding Dean's soul behind as quickly as possible and nothing can be quicker than the bullet between the eyes. 

And yet, the still functioning part of Sam's logical mind reminds him that he wanted to check out the demon by himself before killing him. That was the whole point about the summoning, failed as it was. He has to make sure, because the contract is too good to be true. It's a pity that the interrogation is not happening the way he wanted to, but that doesn't mean that he should throw away the chance altogether.

Sam closes his eyes tightly then opens them again.

"Okay," he says. "I'll listen."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As it feels like this story would be too lengthy for me to write, I'll just let it rest at this point.


End file.
